


Cornerstone

by Flutiebear



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Post-Game(s), slight inquisition spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutiebear/pseuds/Flutiebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six friends gather for a groundbreaking ceremony, of sorts. Slight spoilers for Inquisition regarding the fates of the DA2 Companions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornerstone

_In the years that followed, many of Kirkwall's most famous landmarks vanished. The Chantry became a memorial garden. The Champion statue fell into the sea. The Hightown Market was first turned into a makeshift soldiers' camp, then a set of apartments for visiting dignitaries._

_But the greatest loss, as Tethras wrote in his_ Tale of Kirkwall _, was that of the Hanged Man. Though never particularly popular with nobles, the establishment had always been a gathering point for Kirkwall's common-born, and the tavern's trademark statue – that of a criminal hanged by his foot – had served as an identifying symbol for several of the city's relief and reconstruction efforts. Although the Hanged Man escaped the unrest in 9:38 Dragon unscathed, Starkhaven soldiers razed the building to the ground during Prince Vael's ill-fated invasion of the city in 9:41 Dragon._

_It would be many years before the capital and permits to rebuild the tavern could be arranged, and by that time, the Hanged Man's original owners had moved on. But one day, without advance notice, construction began in the square where it once had stood, the construction workers paid for and organized by an anonymous benefactor. All anyone could uncover about the white knight was that he had connections to the Dwarven Merchants Guild, who'd written the construction permits. Some speculated the investor might be Tethras himself, who was known to frequent the tavern the decade prior, but critics pointed out that Tethras hadn't been seen in Kirkwall for the better part of a decade._

***

Before sunrise, the dwarf trudges out to the Lowtown pit, where the others have already gathered. The construction workers haven't arrived yet, but they will soon. Any minute now.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, scratching his beard. He wonders if he'll ever get used to the feeling of it. "I got turned around in Hightown. Damned place is a maze now. Did you know they built schools where the Merchants Guild used to be? Schools! The Carta probably crapped themselves in shock."

"You think that's bad? The Rose is now a museum," says a woman with a jaunty hat. She wears too much jewelry and not enough pants. "What a waste."

"Oh, I don't know," says an elven woman by her side. "I rather like it as a museum. I still get lost, but now fewer people ask me where my uniform is." 

"They may not ask, but still they wonder," grumbles an elven man with elaborate tattoos. "The more things change—"

"The more they stay the same," finishes another man, human, much taller than the elf. On his back he carries the sword of the Order. It's a rare sight these days; few are left in Kirkwall, now that the Gallows Circle is gone. "What's with the beard, dwarf?"

"Trying something different," he replies. "Anonymity."

"It looks like—"

He cuts the man off with a wave of his hand. "I know what it looks like," says the dwarf. "But it's not my fault the hair on our cheeks grows the same way."

The woman with a jaunty hat grins, clearly unconvinced. "Especially not when you trim yours to match, I'm sure."

The dwarf shrugs. "Who do you think taught me to wear one of these blasted things? Not my brother, that's for sure."

"Enough. We can gossip later. Do you have it?" says a tall woman with a jaw like granite and a hair like fire, who up until now had loomed over the conversation like a slightly disapproving battering ram.  In her hands is a steel box, hinged open.

The dwarf rolls his eyes at her impatience. "Of course I do," he says, producing from his pack a small pouch and holding it up for her to see. She relaxes.  

The dwarf takes the box from her. Inside are a collection of knick-knacks and baubles; a copy of _The Tale of the Champion,_ a few figurines, a heretical book, a ship in a bottle. A copper frieze of marigolds. A knife, never used. A pair of torn trousers. Someone's belt buckle. An empty lyrium bottle. A dog collar.

The dwarf upends the pouch. Down comes a faded red scarf, falling end over end like the sail of a windmill. 

Also, a black feather.

Nobody objects.

They do not speak. They do not move. They simply regard the contents of the box in silence, each keeping to his or her own thoughts. It feels a little like a Chantry candle-lighting ceremony, thinks the dwarf, and he starts to close the box before someone starts singing. 

"Wait!" cries the woman with the hat. "I almost forgot."

She digs into the pouch at her side and pulls out a small bag. Gently she places it on top of the other contents.

"What's that?" says the elven woman. "A bag of coppers?" 

"Collectible coins," replies the woman with a fond smile. "The kind nobody wants."

They share a smile, and the dwarf closes the lid. Then he places the box into the hollowed cornerstone.

Just in time too, as the workers soon arrive at the site. The six friends retire to a safer distance and lean on each other for a long time, watching as the workers lay brick over brick where the box rests, until the cornerstone can no longer be seen.

"I need a drink," says the human man.

"Soon," the dwarf replies. "Very soon."


End file.
